


Penny For Their Thoughts

by ColetheWolf



Series: Smut Bomb: April 2020 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Reading, Telepathy, Voyeurism, telepath!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColetheWolf/pseuds/ColetheWolf
Summary: Derek presses his luck with an old fortune teller machine at a spooky circus and ends up getting cursed with telepathy. Is it a curse, though? Kinda, but not really. Now he can hear every single dirty thought that Stiles thinks about him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Smut Bomb: April 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724794
Comments: 16
Kudos: 255





	Penny For Their Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this concept would be fun to explore. And also really hot. lol

A travelling circus on the edge of town was the last place Derek considered to be a relaxing, fun time away from the hardships of being a werewolf. And yet, it had been Erica’s turn to pick where the pack hung out together for their monthly “Pack Night”. They had already done mini-golf about ten times over, and the movies about ten times more. So when the circus rolled into town, there was no better choice to make. 

Derek wandered around the darkened, dimly lit circus by his lonesome. The rest of his pack members had split up to take part in the things they were most excited about. Scott and Stiles had ventured over to the rigged prize games. Erica and Boyd had gotten some tickets and popcorn to watch the trapeze show. And Isaac and Peter had sculked around until landing themselves in a Fortune Teller’s wagon. They all seemed thoroughly enthused. 

The only problem was that Derek didn’t have much interest in doing anything, other than staying on his toes. It made him a dud, but a smart one at that. Circuses were creepy during the day, but even more so during the night. Flickering fairground bulbs and poorly-tuned circus tunes getting played through the occasional speaker only added to the creep-factor. Not to mention how empty the whole place was, with just a few random scatters of teenagers and old couples occasionally passing by. 

Derek walked past a couple empty performer tents, watching the draped fabric blow in the wind. He shoved his hands into his pockets and continued walking, when something interesting finally caught his eye. There, underneath a dim light, was an old mechanical fortune teller box with shimmering lettering that read: “Penny For Their Thoughts”. It was one of those old machines with a decrepit mannequin inside the display window that said things like “I see the cards” or “your future reveals itself to me”, only after you wasted a quarter. 

“Penny for _their_ thoughts?” Derek muttered. 

The common phase was ‘penny for _your_ thoughts’. It struck him as odd, but he pulled a spare penny out of his coat pocket and slipped it into the machine. He watched as the rickety old mannequin switched on and began moving around in a very unnatural sequence of movements. The mannequin’s eyes glowed and his doll-like mouth began open and shut to simulate speech as a scratchy voice-recording played. 

After a few minutes of Derek’s dwindling patience, the machine’s lights turned off and nothing more came out of it. Derek grunted frustratedly and looked into the ticket slot directly below the machine, where a printed ticket of his own personalized fortune was supposed to end up. But there was nothing there. Just a bunch of dust and an old wad of gum. Somehow, Derek felt as though the machine electing to not give him a fortune was a fortune in its own right. 

Derek slapped at the side of the old machine, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt as the machine was already a broken piece of shit. The light above him flickered. But nothing more happened. He turned around and started making his way back to where the majority of his packmates were enjoying themselves, collecting fun memories. The only memory Derek had collected was how he wasted a perfectly good penny. 

As Derek neared a more populated area in the otherwise empty circus, his head started to pound. The dim lights that flashed around on decorative display signs seemed to antagonize what felt like the start of a bad headache—which was concerning, considering the fact that werewolves didn’t get headaches. At least, not unless they were exposed to specific strains of wolfsbane and Derek knew that he hadn’t come in contact with wolfsbane for months. 

“Hey—what’s up with you?” Stiles’ voice spoke up. “You look like you’re gonna puke. Popcorn, churros, and soda not sitting right?”

Derek rubbed at the temples of his forehead, blinking away a momentary blur of vision. He looked up to see both Stiles and Scott standing in front of him, holding a litany of cheap stuffed animals as prizes won from fair games. Another dull ache coursed through his head and he squinted his eyes shut, almost keeling over down to the muddy ground. For a moment, he thought he heard a barrage of random voices muffled around inside of his head. And then the headache was gone. 

“You good?” Scott asked.

Derek straightened up, trying to act as though he hadn’t just had a conniption in the middle of a circus. Luckily, there weren’t a lot of people around. He caught a glimpse of Erica and Boyd walking out from the trapeze performance tent with a handful of other guests, then spotted Isaac and Peter laughing about something near the fortune teller’s wagon. Derek shook his head and composed himself. 

“I’m fine.” Derek said, waiting for the rest of his pack members to gather around. “It’s getting late. We should all get back home.”

✱

The next morning, Derek woke up bright and early. It was Sunday, which meant the usual pack training would commence in a few hours. He showered and dressed and then waited for the first of the pack to arrive at the heavy doors of his loft. The knocks rapped hard against the metal and Derek slid them open, huffing out a displeased breath of air through his nose when his eyes settled upon his annoying uncle. 

“Good morning to you too, Derek.” Peter chimed sarcastically, rolling his shoulders as he stepped into the loft— he was already wearing his workout attire. 

“ _Yeah._ ” Derek droned, closing the door. 

“Does a sour attitude really do you any good, anyways? Lighten up.” Thought Peter.

Derek heard Peter speak, though it sounded airy. He shot an angry look in Peter’s direction, only to notice that Peter was doing rapid push-ups on the cement floor as part of his warm-up routine. Still— regardless of Peter’s ability to follow the rules, he wasn’t going to be disrespectful. 

“What did you say?” Derek asked coldly, walking over to Peter. 

Peter stopped doing push-ups and sat up onto his knees. He looked up to Derek with a look of confusion spread across his face. He hadn’t said anything. What the hell was Derek going on about now? Derek looked quite serious—though, that was somewhat normal. And yet, looked expectant, as though he was waiting for Peter to answer his question. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Peter shook his head confoundingly. 

“That’s what I thought.” Derek bit. He turned around and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Peter to momentarily question his nephew’s sanity. 

Once the entire pack arrived, things got started right away. There was no time to waste. Derek liked to keep things running on a tight schedule. Keeping everybody on their toes and constantly moving not only made for a better training session, but also discouraged people from sparking up conversations and getting themselves distracted with things other than honing their skills and techniques. 

Derek had everybody line up in front of them and then led the pack in a series of kickboxing exercise moves. They were something new that he had decided to bring into the mix, seeing as how unpleasant confrontations with rogue monsters was a fairly common occurrence in Beacon Hills. And the best thing for his pack was to have an array of different fighting techniques in their arsenal just in case. 

As everybody punched and kicked into the air, following Derek’s leading movements, Derek stayed focused. The rest of the world seemed to fall away as he moved. His body seemed to glide around, making precise movements that the others tried to mimic—some more successful than others. Erica seemed to do the best, whilst Isaac kept tripping over his own feet. But not even that broke Derek’s focus—not until he heard Stiles speak up. 

“I wonder if Derek knows how fucking hot he looks in that tank-top. Blue is definitely his color.” Stiles thought confidently.

Derek’s steady stance faltered as he looked over to where Stiles was wildly punching and kicking into the air, nearly bumping into where Scott was standing next to him. His eyebrows furrowed and a confused look washed over his own face as he tracked Stiles’ movement, watching the boy’s face and lips, and then looked around to see if anybody was going to react to Stiles’ comment. Nobody did. 

“And now he’s looking at me. _Fuck_. What wouldn’t I give to have him look up at me like that, down on his knees. He’d look good on his knees.” Stiles thought.

Stiles spoke again. Except, he didn’t. His lips didn’t even move. Derek nearly gawked out in shock, unable to fathom what the fuck was going on. And why was Stiles talking about him like that? What kind of game was Stiles trying to play? Was it some kind of elaborate prank, designed for Derek to make a fool of himself in front of his pack?

“What are you talking about?” Derek asked seriously. 

The rest of the pack’s enthusiastic kickboxing gradually lost its momentum as they looked at Derek, wondering what he was talking about. He had a panicked look in his eyes and seemed as though he was now entirely uncomfortable standing in front of everybody else. The lack in confidence was something nobody else had ever seen come from Derek. He was usually the rock. 

“Uh—what do you mean?” Scott asked, looking around to the other confused faces of his fellow pack members. 

“What is _Stiles_ talking about? Hmm?” Derek growled, turning to look at where Stiles was standing—utterly confused. “What did you mean by those comments?” 

“What comments?” Stiles looked puzzled. 

Derek gave a dry laugh. “Ah, so you thought I wouldn’t embarrass you like this in front of everybody? I’m not one of your teachers at school. I don’t put up with class clowns and class pranks—so all of you, since you want to pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about—drop down to the ground and give me push-ups until your arms snap off.”

Everybody immediately groaned. Stiles and Scott traded shrugged looks of “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with him” and then reluctantly lowered themselves down to the ground, getting into position. Derek clapped his hands together hard and roared out the first count push-ups. The pack followed. He did it again and again, stepping around through the crowd as he watched everybody complete their push-ups.

“No way. _No fucking way_. Is Derek reading my thoughts? No way. Not fucking possible. Shit—now maybe I’m losing it. Mind reading? No. It doesn’t exist. But what if it does? Nah. Derek would’ve murdered me ages ago for everything I’ve thought about him.” Stiles argued with himself—inside of his own mind. And Derek heard every word.

Derek tried to grapple with the reality of his situation. He was reading minds. _Somehow_ . And as somebody who had grown up with his nose in-between books in his family’s library, he had never come across any kind of spell that allowed for a werewolf to actually _hear_ somebody else’s thoughts—and without actively trying to do so. Derek didn’t know how he was doing it. Everything Stiles was thinking seemed to pour into his own brain. 

As everybody else continued on with their push-ups of punishment, Derek paced around— visibly distracted. He racked his mind for some kind of explanation. He hadn’t consumed any unfamiliar food or beverage that would have the ability to give him an extra power. He hadn’t come into contact with wolfsbane. He hadn’t fought any witches or warlocks, capable of cursing him with such an ability…

Derek stopped dead in his tracks, thumbing at his stubbled chin. The circus, he thought. That was out of the way and spooky. Somebody there could’ve cursed him. That—or maybe the whole place had been an elaborate set up to turn Derek into a telepath. None of it seemed logical though— _but_ —the fortune machine. _Ah._

A lightbulb clicked inside of Derek’s head. The fortune machine, the one that stole his penny. He hadn’t received a fortune, but that wasn’t the important part of what Derek’s brain pieced together. The machine had had a slogan printed onto it: “Penny for their thoughts”. _Their_. In an odd way, it made sense. Derek spent a penny and could now read people’s thoughts. 

“Okay—okay.” Derek muttered, coming out of his own deep thoughts. He watched as everybody stopped with their push-ups and stood up from the ground. “I—uh, lost my temper for a minute.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” Erica questioned snarkily. 

“Sorry.” Derek said, crossing his arms. “I’m cutting training short today. You can all— _I don’t know_ —watch TV or something. I need to—uh—read some books.”

Derek made his exit out of the main area of the loft, leaving a sea of confused beta faces behind. He went to his library and scanned through some of his books that he thought might include entries about enchanted machines, pulling them into his hand. And by the time he returned back to the main living space, everybody had gone about doing their own post-practice things. 

Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were sitting on the ground around the coffee table, playing some sort of multiplayer game on their phones. Peter was sulking around the spiral staircase, sipping water from his thermos. And Scott and Stiles were kicked back on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television. 

Derek walked past them, trading a curious glance with Stiles, and then rounded his desk— which was situated in front of the large window that overlooked the city. He sat down at the desk, dropping all of the books that he had pulled from his library, and then decided on which one to look through first. The lucky winner— _Chanting Enchantments & How To Do It. _

Not more than twenty minutes later, Derek was furiously flipping through the pages of his books, trying to find something that would explain his current affiliation. There had to be a way to reverse it. He was perfectly fine working with his own thoughts. The last thing that he needed was to hear all of the crazy things everybody else was thinking. But then Derek’s concentration was broken by the sound of Stiles speaking again. 

“ _Fuck_ —nerdy guys are so hot. Especially when they look like Derek. I wonder if he reads after sex. Fuck—I wonder if he’s fucked on that desk before.” Stiles thought casually. 

Derek’s eyes widened, but he tried his best to keep them bolted to the pages of his books. He feared looking at Stiles at the risk that Stiles would surely figure out that his thoughts were not at any way protected in secrecy. And even though Stiles’ thoughts were escalating in a much more explicit way, there was a piece of Derek’s brain that was curious. 

“I just wanna give him nice things—like blowjobs.” Stiles thought nicely. “I know he’s big—no way he isn’t. He’s an alpha—aren’t they all huge, like massive? Seven— _no_ —seven and half— _NO_ —eight, yeah eight inches. Definitely. And thick. No wonder he does that swagger walk when he’s wearing tight jeans.”

Derek flipped a page of his book, not even paying attention to what was on the page. He just needed to keep up the show. He could feel Stiles’ hazel eyes beamed right at him and even though Derek’s body wanted to turn and look directly into Stiles’ face, Derek couldn’t. Stiles would freak out. He’d probably run. _Hell_ —he’d stop talking. And Derek...wanted to hear.

“How do you tell somebody that you want to suck their dick?” Stiles pondered lightly, an air of passion laced his internal dialogue. “I give great blowjobs—Danny wouldn’t stop talking about the one I gave him. So what the fuck Derek—why haven’t you asked me yet? If you think I’d turn you down, you’re fucking insane. I’d let you fuck my throat for hours—Scouts’ Honor.”

Oh god. Derek thumbed anxiously at the corner of one of his pages and then turned it, still pretending to read. But he pat himself on the back for being able to pretend so well. He maintained his dulled, performative gaze down into the pages of the book, scanning back and forth across the lines of words, but didn’t pick up as much as a couple words. And still— Stiles just continued on and on. He was a motor-mouth even inside of his own head. 

“It’s a good way to shut me up.” Stiles noted cockily. “That’s what Peter said.”

Derek choked on his own saliva. He coughed out repeatedly, trying to restrain the volume of his sudden choking. His eyes watered, blurring his vision as he stared down into his book. But this time, Derek couldn’t stop himself from peering up. He gave a casual glance over his shoulder to where Peter was lounging around on the staircase, only to see that Peter was glancing over to Stiles with a bashful smirk. 

“Hey—I, uh—gotta take a leak.” Stiles said, standing up from where he had been sitting on the couch. 

Derek watched as Stiles clumsily navigated around where Scott’s legs were kicked up onto the coffee table and where the rest of the pack was sitting on the floor around the coffee table. Stiles kept his head down—where a blush of pink had spread across his freckled face. Derek couldn’t help but notice Stiles’ eager stride. And as Stiles made his way towards the hallway, Derek’s eyes fell down to where Stiles’s cock was noticeably hard—bobbing around with his quick steps in the confines of his sweatpants. 

Before Derek even realized what he was doing, he closed his book and stepped away from where he had been sitting at his desk. He surveyed the rest of his pack members where they were casually lounged around, focused on their own conversations. Peter had retired upstairs to do God knows what. And luckily for Derek, none of them even bothered to notice how Derek was making his way down the hallway towards the guest bathroom. 

_“Ah—fuck.”_ Stiles’ thought fluttered into Derek’s headspace. 

Derek crept up on the bathroom door, which had been closed tight and locked. He made sure not to accidentally let the soles of his shoes make too much noise at the risk that it would alert Stiles to somebody lurking outside the door. Stiles seemed completely oblivious to everything, especially to the fact that his deepest, lewdest thoughts were getting broadcast inside of Derek’s head. 

Suddenly, the quick sound of skin rubbing against skin pricked at Derek’s heightened hearing. Stiles was on the other side of the door, standing—probably in front of the toilet—with his hard cock in his hand, stroking himself. Derek could actually tell that Stiles was standing as his ears perked up to the sound of Stiles’ feet shuffling around, shifting around his own weight. And he could tell that Stiles was leaking precum, all thanks to his own capable werewolf sense of smell. 

Stiles gave an audible, yet whispered groan. And then more of his thoughts pierced into Derek’s head. “ _Fuck_ , Derek—fuck yeah. Suck that dick—just like that.”

Derek’s own cock gave an interested twitch inside of his joggers. He palmed down at himself, trying to will away his erection, but it didn’t help. Most likely because he was unwilling to step away from listening in on what was going on in the bathroom and settle back in the living room with the rest of his pack. He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t even believe himself—he had never done something so—daring, so lewd. And yet the rasp of Stiles’ internal voice made his body feel all hot and tight. 

“ _God_ —you look good like that—my big fucking cock down your throat—so pretty. You should let me do this more often—use your pretty little mouth. Always growling and barking orders—no, how about _you_ shut the fuck up every one in a while. Let me fuck your throat—grab your hair—make you take it—make you gag on it—you’d like it.”

It instantly became clear to Derek that Stiles wasn’t just thinking anymore—he was actively visualizing a whole scenario as he jerked himself off. In Stiles’ head, he was fucking Derek’s mouth, hard and rough, talking down to him—making him feel dirty and used. And Derek hated every minute of not being able to see the visuals that weaved around inside of the boy’s head. He could only hear the words—the dialogue of Stiles’ fantasy. 

Derek palmed harder at his now fully hard cock through the thin cotton of his joggers. He couldn’t stand it. His body felt like it was going to explode. Derek shot his hand down into his boxers and pulled out his cock, hooking the elastic waistbands of his joggers and pair of boxers underneath his heavy balls. He wrapped his fingers around his throbbing length, immediately thrusting into his own grasp—hung on every filthy thing that Stiles was thinking. 

Stiles whimpered out into the bathroom, picking up the pace of his own hand. Derek hung onto the tiniest bit of sound. The hitch in Stiles’ breathing, the uptick of his heartbeat, the slick sound of the boy’s leaking cock sliding in and out of his firm grasp, everything. Meanwhile, Derek jerked himself harder—plastering his back against the hallway’s wall, standing just to the side of the bathroom door’s placement. He bit down hard onto his bottom lip, struggling to keep himself completely quiet.

“You’re a fucking sin, Derek—fucking _CHRIST_ .” Stiles’ thought groaned. “I just wanna—I wanna touch you, _everywhere_ —kiss you, _suck you_ . I wanna drag my hands across your chest— _fuck_ —your chest. God, let me fuck my dick between your tits, let me bite at those nipples, _please_.”

Derek swallowed down a desperate whimper. He fucked his hips faster into the firm, knowing grasp of his hand. With his other hand, he reached down and grabbed onto the bottom hem of his t-shirt and flipped it up and over his head, keeping his arms within the shirt’s sleeve. It turned the shirt into a harness, bracketting the beef of his chest muscles—his tits—the ones Stiles wanted to fuck his dick in-between. Derek let his head rest back against the wall. 

“And that ass—you’re a piece of shit for walking about in jeans that tight, knowing damn well one wrong move and that fat fucking ass would spill out. And _fuck_ —I wouldn’t be able to stop myself— _fuck_ , the way those firm globes would wobble as I fuck into you—fuck that tight fucking ass, yeah—you’d fucking _like_ that, wouldn’t you?”

Derek nodded. His eyes fluttered shut. His hips swiveled around as he jerked himself off. He touched himself down there sometimes, but it was rare. He never had the time to let go that much. But now he wanted it— he wanted everything Stiles wanted. Derek lapped at his lips, thumbing over his leaking cockhead. He imagined what it would feel like to have Stiles’ fingers slip into his hole and fingerfuck him nice and open, only to replace his fingers with his cock. 

“Fuck yeah, Derek—ride that fucking cock. _Take it._ Ah, good boy. You like it when I fuck your tight hole? Hmm? Big bad alpha likes his pussy stuffed full, doesn’t he? Can’t get enough. So big and broody, always so quiet, ordering everybody around, but all you want is for somebody to hold you down and fuck you sloppy, don’t you?”

 _“Mmhmm.”_ Derek groaned, muttered under his breath. 

He couldn’t stop it from escaping anymore, but he didn’t care. Stiles wasn’t a werewolf. He didn’t have hypersensative ears and he was too busy fucking his fat cock into his fist—he wasn’t listening to where Derek was standing in the hallway. Everybody else was far away, back in the living room, muffled by the sound of some cheesy cartoon playing on the TV. Nobody could hear him. Nobody would. 

“Bounce of that big fucking cock, slut.” Stiles’ thoughts grew louder. “Big, strong alpha werewolf—getting held down—getting that tight fucking ass fucked open by a human— _yeah_ , take it—fucking beg for it!”

“ _I—I—I want it._ ” Derek whispered, bottom lip quivering. His body flushed hot with a sudden fever and his bones seemed to quake. “Fuck me. _Stiles—_ ”

Derek’s eyes shot open in an instance. He looked down to where his hips seemed to move without his brain even needing to make the call. His balls drew tight and then he watched as his massive, throbbing cock flung ropes and ropes of hot cum out, spattering down against the cement floor of the hallway in heavy, audible pats. His hips kept thrusting—he kept cumming. 

“Oh _GOD_!” Stiles cried out, audibly this time around. Derek’s ears tuned in to the sound of Stiles’ load spewing out of his cock in thick, repeatedly brusts—spilling over the boy’s knuckles and dripping into the clean water of the toilet bowl. 

The sound of the toilet flushing and the bathroom’s sink faucet turning on shocked Derek out of his post orgasmic haze. Derek couldn’t let Stiles find him in the hallway outside the bathroom, let alone with his own cock in his hand and cum splattered all over the floor. So Derek launched himself into a panicked frenzy, pulling his shirt completely off this time around. He knelt down and haphazardly wiped his cum off of the floor—feeling his heart sink into his stomach the moment he heard the bathroom’s faucet turn off and the door handle jiggle. 

Derek made a beeline further down the hallway, pushing his way into a linen closet, shutting himself in. He stood there, cramped up against fresh towels, shirtless, sweaty, with his sticky cock still hanging over the waistband of his joggers. But he reasoned with himself, knowing that at least Stiles would come out of the bathroom and head back out to the living room with the rest of the pack, and then Derek could sneak to his bedroom and change. 

Stiles opened up the bathroom door, drying his freshly-washed hands onto the fabric of his sweaty t-shirt—humming softly to himself. But just as he stepped outside of the bathroom, the sole of his sneaker caught onto something wet and slippery. Luckily, Stiles caught himself from falling by grabbing onto the bathroom door’s threshold. But not so luckily for Derek, Stiles bent down to survey what he had stepped in and thumbed knowingly at the sticky white-hot splatter. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate comments, critiques, and suggestions! Also kudos! Thanks!!! :D


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